


Comfort

by patronusfeder



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mention of scars, Sharing a Bed, i need them to be, they're soft, this is my first try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patronusfeder/pseuds/patronusfeder
Summary: A short One Shot about their first night at Daisy's cottage in Scotland.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first tma work and i'm still not sure wether i even like it. mostly, i'm trying to get a better idea of them.  
> also, english is hard, please don't eat me (:

He could feel him staring at him. He could feel his hungry eyes all over his face, looking for some kind of information he could feed on.  
He was probably Knowing things about him again.

He had promised, though.  
Maybe he wasn't trying to Know things about him.

But that didn't really mean much anymore, did it?

Evidently to Martin, it was becoming harder and harder for Jon to restrain from that hungry power within him. He was starving for more knowledge, starving for more information that would feed The Eye.  
And even though he really seemed to be trying his best, he often ended up Knowing bizarrely specific facts about things he and Martin were talking about.

When they had sat in the train to Scotland earlier that day, they had not talked for a while, each lost deep in thought as they had watched lakes and forests go by. At some point, Martin had grown tired of the silence between them and he had tried to start some conversation. Nothing too personal or deep, of course, and certainly nothing that would remind them of The Institute or The Lonely or Elias or any of the others of the team. Not yet. The wounds still felt too fresh for that.  
It had not lasted very long. Jon had always kind of known what Martin would come up with next and it had soon tired them both.

And so they had gone back to silence again, waiting for the train to arrive in Scotland.

But now he could feel him watching again, he could feel his gaze on his face and he didn't know how to ignore it anymore. Martin started wondering whether he should have agreed when Jon had volunteered to sleep on the old sofa next door. He had suggested that Martin could have the bed of the small cottage's bedroom as soon as they had arrived.  
But that sofa was an ugly, dirty thing. Probably older than either of them and certainly with lots and lots of Things in there that Martin did not even want to think about.

He really did not need another encounter with strange insects.  
And neither did Jon.

No, he wouldn't let anyone sleep on that sofa. Least of all Jon who was looking worse and worse each day now. Like all it would take to blow him over was some soft breeze.

The single bed would have to do.  
For both of them.

It was big enough for two, after all. Martin wasn't quite sure why Daisy had even needed a bed so big for one person. This was just one of her safe houses after all, and she surely had not chosen it for its comfort. He had thought about asking Jon about it but then he had changed his mind.  
He was still kind of afraid of this Knowing thing of his. And he didn't really like taking advantage of it, either, not even for questions like that. And so he had decided that he didn't care.

It didn't matter much, anyway. They would have to lie low for a while. Until things had settled back home. They would have to take whatever they could get on the way and Daisy's old cottage was better than most other options.  
But the thought of Daisy returning to this house scared Martin if he was being honest.

When Basira had given them both the address, tickets and keys they had just taken them and gone without asking further questions.

But Martin had told Jon about his fear later, a few hours after they had arrived. They had sat at the dusty old kitchen table together, drinking tea that Martin had made for them. Jon had listened and even tried to Know where Daisy was at the moment, he had tried to Know about her possible future intentions.  
But it had not worked. And it had not surprised either of them very much.

And so they had dismissed those thoughts again and had decided to get ready for bed.

Basira had packed them a few things as they had not had a lot of time when they had departed. She had grabbed Jon a few tapes, too, but he had not even looked at them yet. Instead, he had put them back into the bag, buried under clothes where he wouldn't have to see them.  
He probably wanted to save them for later, Martin figured. For that moment when he couldn't take it any longer and the hunger would finally overwhelm him.

They had chosen some clothes from their backpacks that they could sleep in: An old shirt that had a 'What The Ghost' print on its chest and some black sweat pants for Jon and a grey tank top with red shorts for Martin.  
Basira had probably just taken the clothes that she had found in their offices at The Institute. Both of them had been keeping some of their stuff there: Jon for when he needed to change in the morning after missing the last train home and Martin from the time when he was sleeping in The Institute.

After changing, they had gone to bed, each taking one side of it without asking questions.  
And since then, Martin had been feeling the other man staring at him.

He suddenly felt reminded of the young woman that had come to his office some months ago. It felt like it had been years at this point but he could still remember the utter terror in her dark eyes. The way her voice had sounded when she had spoken about her strange encounter with Jon at that café.  
Martin still pitied her. He felt really sorry for what she had to go through now that Jon had messed with her head.

But he was really trying now.  
Martin knew he was trying his best.

But sometimes he still caught him, staring at him. It had happened in the train a couple of times and it had happened at the kitchen table while he had been making tea.  
And, apparently, it was happening right now.

"Stop staring at me, Jon," Martin mumbled when he finally couldn't take it any longer. He heard the other man suppress a surprised little gasp for being caught.  
"I thought you were asl-" Jon sighed. "How did you even know I was -"

Martin opened his sleepless eyes and turned his head to look at him.  
Jon was lying next to him on the mattress, facing him. Martin, who was lying on his back, sighed and just gave him a look, his brows raised at him slightly.  
Jon dropped his gaze.

"Right, yeah." He just nodded and rolled over so all that Martin could see of him then was his back. "Sorry."

Martin sighed again, rolling onto his side so he was facing Jon's narrow back and shoulders now.

"There's no reason to be sorry," he said softly.  
"Yeah," was all Jon had to say to that.

Then they both fell silent again and now Martin was the one watching Jon. There was just enough light to make out the nape of his neck that was covered with a lot long curls of his greying hair. They had decided to leave on a light in the small living-room next door. And even though they knew it would barely change a thing, they had agreed that it promised them at least a small amound of comfort.

In the soft light Martin could see also bits of brown skin beneath Jon's hair and the round dark spots all over it, the scars those worms had left there after Jane Prentiss's attack.  
Jon had a lot of them. Scars.

Martin had always kind of wanted to ask him about them. He knew where he had got some of them, like the ones the worms had left. He hadn't exactly seen it happen but he had seen the worms and he had heard the scream before he had taken the wrong turn and had stumbled into that room where he had found Gertrude. The thought still made him shutter.  
But Jon had never really told him about the other ones, like the burning scar that marked his right hand. Some of them where still a mystery to Martin that he would like to solve.

But he had never dared to ask.  
It had not seemed right after everything that had happened. He had not wanted to bother Jon with such things.

But he wasn't the only one. They both had scars, some more visible and obvious than others.  
Martin was constantly reminded of his own struggle with The Lonely: Whenever he looked in the mirror and saw the white streaks in his hair, whenever he started feeling cold and all he could think of was the numbing chill he had felt in that void of Loneliness before Jon had found him.

Martin suppressed a shiver.  
He didn't want to think about this again. Not now. He knew he would be thinking about these things soon enough, for whenever he finally managed to fall asleep he was always woken by some dream about The Lonely again.

"Are you okay?" Martin asked when he saw Jon shiver slightly as well, just a few seconds later. 

The man grunted quietly at that.

"Define 'okay'," he mumbled into the dusty pillow and Martin saw his shoulders tighten a bit.

Neither of them said anything for a moment. They just lay there, listening to the sound of their breaths.

"I mean," Martin started, but he dropped it. "How do you feel, Jon?" he asked instead.

It was a bold question and he knew that.  
Neither of them liked acknowledging their feelings very much, especially not Jon. He defintely preferred keeping things to himself. And he had become very good at that, even better that Martin.  
But it wasn't exactly good for him.

Jon sighed after a moment and then turned onto his back. He stared at the ceiling for a while before he sighed once more.

"I - I don't know, Martin," he said after another moment of silence, still looking at the ceiling.

This wasn't the usual 'I don't know' he often liked to throw at Martin to get him to shut up and leave him alone. It seemed much more genuine this time.  
He really seemed to be trying.

"I -" He shook his head. "I think I miss the old days," he mumbled, still not turning his gaze away from the ceiling. Martin kept looking at him. "Back in the office, you know," Jon continued then. "Back when things were just - I mean with Sasha and Tim and - and you."

Finally, he turned his head and met Martin's gaze.

"You hated me back then," Martin mumbled, trying hard not to duck his head like he had used to when Jon had started having another go at him.  
"No, I didn't, Martin, I -" He fell silent and Martin just gave him a look. He knew. And so did Jon. There was no need to be lying about this. "I - I did not Hate you," Jon tried, "I just -"

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.  
His brows were drawn together tightly which made his forehead and the scars on it wrinkle a bit.

"I'm sorry, Martin," Jon said, looking at him now with such intensity in his eyes that for a moment Martin forgot how to take a breath. "I treated you very badly."  
"Jon." He shook his head. "It's okay."  
"No. No, it's not okay," Jon disagreed. "I should never have said those things about you. I should have - I was wrong about you. I was a bad boss. And a very bad friend."

Martin didn't know what to say.  
He had never heard Jon admit to his mistakes. Not like that. And certainly not to him.

"It's okay, Jon," he repeated flatly. "This is in the past. You can't change it anymore."  
"But I can apologise," Jon said.

He rolled over, facing Martin again.

"I am sorry, Martin," he repeated.

There was a long moment of silence between them and all Martin could feel was a strange tickling sensation deep down in his belly.  
It kind of made his heart ache. But in a good way. Probably.

"Thank you, Jon," he whispered back.

He reached out and brushed the other man's hand with his fingertips as it was lying between them on the mattress and so easy to reach. He didn't even have to think about it. He took one step further and took it into his own.  
But the moment he did so, he felt Jon freeze under his touch and he noticed, too late, that it had been his burned hand that he had taken.

He let go of him immediatly.

"I'm sorry, Jon, I thought -" He didn't know what he had thought. He didn't know why he had even done this in the first place. He felt his heart aching even more. But definitely not in a good way this time. "I'm sorry," he just repeated, feeling especially foolish.

"No. Martin."

Jon reached out and took his hand, holding it with his burned one. His scarred skin felt quite strange beneath Martin's fingertips. It seemed to be both rough and silky at the same time.  
They remained silent for a while, just holding each other's hand.

"Martin, I -" Jon was looking at their hands, not even coming close to meeting Martin's eyes. He shook his head and tried again. "I - I -"  
"Yes, I know," Martin said, squeezing his hand gently. "I know, Jon. You don't have to say it. Not yet."

Jon lifted his head at that and just looked at him, returning his gaze. 

His face grew soft as he nodded.

"Thank you, Martin," he whispered and this time it was Martin who nodded, giving Jon just the hint of a smile.

Then he closed his eyes again.  
Martin could feel Jon's hand in his, his warm skin beneath his fingers. He felt a sudden comfort that he had not felt for a long time now. A comfort he had not dared to even hope for since the moment he had found the body of Gertrude Robinson in the tunnels.

"Thank you, Jon," he whispered softly, only seconds away now from falling asleep.


End file.
